


Shadow Puppets

by whimsicalmuse



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-23
Updated: 2004-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is when I know he's mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow Puppets

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the [Monaboyd.net Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Monaboyd.net), which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Monaboyd_Archive/profile).  
> \-----
> 
> A/N: Result of perving on Fandom chat. No beta, and not much longer than a drabble. For sparklytiara because she is my fic bitch, and I’ve driven her crazy with my fic request tonight. Oh set in that Lake District Place...on New Years. (The Girlfriend is there) (surprise, surprise)

This is when I know he’s mine. When his eyes open for me, face flushed in the candlelight, lips slick with wine. When he lets out a small sigh, and the hot breath tickles my face, and the smell of strawberries is so sweet, I can taste it when I lick my own lips.

“Dom,” my name comes out like a prayer in a sigh, and I smile softly and sip from the delicate glass in my fingers. When his eyes grow hungry yet shy, I offer the glass to him, and in the tangle of limbs on the soft bed we loose our balance and little droplets splash the creamy skin, red raindrops, that run in little rivulets and settle onto a pool on a taunt flat belly.

There isn’t much pretense between us, when my eyes settle on his skin, he knows what will be coming, yet still, he stifles a breathless gasp when my warm tongue laps around flushed pink nipples. His hands hover in the air, uncertain but nervous, but I don’t guide him, I leave him to his own devices, while my tongue swirls each nipple, and then follows the red rivers to his belly.

The slick of my tongue shines in the candlelight. Then I make the mistake of looking at him, and he licks his lips, and when I motion to kiss him, I feel the prickle of a strawberry pressed to my lips. I know my eyes must be full of confusion, but his only reply is a cheeky small smile, which grows mysterious when I nip at the fruit, my tongue flicking, and then tearing the red meat off, red juices falling onto my chin, and back onto his belly.

“Slob,” he teases, but then leans up and forward, to lick the juice, and the graze with small sharp teeth.

Sometimes, I wish there would be more, that we would move slowly, but it rarely happens. When his lips get so close to mine, there is always kissing. Always there is click of teeth, and growl in the back of a throat, and my lips always pull away deep rosy and warm. But we don’t pull away to stop, on the contrary, we pull away for more, because the heat and the promise beneath us cannot be denied nor ignored.

Then there is the clink of buckles and fabric as they are tossed to the floor. Hot fingers always probe him, sticky with spit and wine, because we are always too impatient for lube. And then he is hot, so damn hot, and the play of emotions on his face is always like a gunshot to my cock, hot, and explosive, and I all but snatch his legs up and apart, and settle between them.

The fireworks go off the first time I crash into him.

He’s still at first, unyielding, but quiet, because he knows he dare not make a sound, or there will be teeth and marks left on his neck, or if I’m in a particularly cruel mood, I might even pull out, and finish myself off, while he watches, unable to work himself, because that is forbidden.

Maybe if I’m charitable, I’ll even suck him off, wrap my tongue around him, flick the slit at the head of his cock, and swallow him deep until he chokes out a cry, and erupts deep in my mouth.

But that doesn’t happen tonight.

Tonight, I fuck him, hard and fast, jaw set, and sweat dripping to settle between us, mixing with the sticky wine. Fireworks whiz into the sky, raining showers of yellow green, and blue, then fizz out on the inky lake. I much prefer the way the shower of yellow kisses his skin, almost as much as I enjoy the way the sparks hiss like he does, when I hook his legs over my shoulders, and throw my head back as I slide in and out. He watches us, seeing our shadows in the torchlight, like shadow puppets against a pale wall.

We could go on for some time I think, silent thrusts, the lazy strokes I give him a stark contrast from my frantic pace. But then he looks up with a lazy smile, and a soft, “I love you,” and I erupt deep and warm inside him.

I wish I could tell you that he comes after me but in truth I never know. Instead of seeing his face contorting under me, I see it smiling next to me eyes full of mirth and a bit of concern, as we watch the fireworks on the lake.

"You looked like you were in another world there for a moment, Dom."

"Yea. Happy New Year, Billy." I reply, and take a sip of my wine.

“Happy New Year, Dom” He pats my shoulder, and glass in hand, slips away to his room and her smile.

I’m left alone to contemplate the silence, harsh against the sparks and the mist, and think of when he’s mine and I’m his.


End file.
